Not that kind of girl
by kissmelikeapirate
Summary: She's not that kind of girl. He's not that kind of guy. But maybe together, they can be… something. Emma Swan thought she had it all. But when her house of cards starts to fall, she finds herself back at square one. Living in her childhood home, she begins to question if she really ever had anything at all.
1. High 'n' Dry

Usually she was a heavy sleeper, the kind who pressed the snooze button until she was falling out of bed - dragging a comb through her hair as she tried to dress and eat breakfast simultaneously. For some people, this would be a problem, but for Emma Swan it was just the way she worked.

But not today.

With a spring in her step, she leapt from her bed. It may still have been dark outside, but she had already been awake for hours, anxious to start her day.

The day.

Soon she was fumbling in her small bathroom, squeezing herself between the shower stall and the sink, grabbing her toothbrush while reaching to turn on the shower. The tiny room was barely big enough for the amenities and soon it filled with steam, slicking dampness on the walls that she knew would soon start to drizzle down the faded paint.

But she didn't care, because today was going to be her day.

Happily, she scrubbed her face and lathered up her hair. She sang as she shaved her legs (ignoring the shouts of 'shut up' from the studio next door). She even smiled when her head bumped against the too-low-hung shower head.

Just this once, nothing was going to rain on her parade.

Sliding open the concertina door of the tiny ensuite, she surveyed her half of the subdivided apartment that she had called home for these past four years. Her fold out bed-come-couch was piled up with her forgotten duvet. The coffee table that doubled as a dining area (Asian style was in, right?) was cluttered with coffee cups and the bottle of wine she and Neal had shared the night before. For a moment, she wished he could have stayed. Morning sex was one of the few ways she imagined the morning being improved. But she pushed the thought aside and pounced on the small walk in closet what was one of the studio's few luxuries.

As she surveyed her small selection of business wear, she thought back to when she had first arrived in the city. With little more than a summer job's worth of savings and a one way ticket, she had spent the first few months couch surfing with college friends. Her first real place had been in TriBeCa - rooming with six models in a loft with bad plumbing, made only bearable by the two jobs she had to pull to afford living there, meaning that it was literally just a place to sleep.

It had taken accepting the job working with August W. Booth, accountant extraordinaire, to finally give her enough cash to afford this place, an illegal sublet in West Village. She had celebrated by hitting a local cocktail bar with her best New York girlfriend Ruby. A new job, a new apartment - she was on a high. So when a guy with a smooth tongue and sexy eyes had asked to buy her a drink, for once she had said yes.

He also became the first guy she brought to her new place. A night of drunken sex amidst the packing boxes had turned into a weekend of takeout and no clothes and by Monday they were officially dating.

The small mirror in her 'kitchen' (a two burner stove, a microwave and kettle) gave just the right light to smooth on some foundation and a few layers of mascara. A slick of bare lipstick was enough to make her feel ready to face the world and with an unfamiliar lightness in her step, she skipped out of the door, heading for the subway.

August Booth had a two room set up, hidden away on the side street of a side street, just close enough to Times Square to be considered 'midtown.' As usual, the elevator was out of service, so Emma swung open the door to the staircase, automatically wrinkling her nose at the stale smell of what she hoped wasn't urine. She counted the 47 steps to the fourth floor and punched in the security code, using her back to pry open the heavy, metal door that guarded their floor.

Theirs, because she was his only employee. Ever since she had answered his ad in a free paper, Emma had been his only employee; he had promised the company was a start-up but headed for good things. Soon, he would move premises, hire more staff - and then, then, he would need an office manager. The carrot dangled before her promised responsibility and success. This job would be the key to her making it in New York City.

Yet time had stalled, and as she turned the key of the darkened office space, it was only her sparse desk that met her, alongside a faded couch that August had picked up off the street.

But not for much longer.

Today was the day that August would sign the contract that she had been chasing for months - an exclusive deal that would provide services for one of Manhattan's largest limo companies. That meant more work, more staff, new offices and most importantly - a promotion.

She busied herself, booting up her laptop, turning on the coffee maker and watering the few plants that were her attempt at injecting color into the dull, beige space.

Emails were checked and this week's billing had begun before she realized it was almost 9:30. Staring at the wall clock - whose minute hand shook when it struck twelve - she frowned. August was never this late - well, at least not without calling. She picked up her phone and dialed his cell, only to tut when it went straight to voicemail. Briefly she thought that maybe he, too, had celebrated a little too much last night so she called his apartment line. But it just rang and rang until she dropped the phone in frustration.

By now her stomach was growling, so in annoyance she grabbed her coat and stepped out of the office, locking it behind her as she made her way to the local deli.

One bagel with cream cheese and a skinny latte later, she was checking the time again. 10:05.

Seriously? She sighed, pulling out a ten and heading back to the office. Their meeting with Canin Bros. was scheduled for 11:30 and they still needed to finalize the paperwork and iron out the last few details. August was a little eccentric occasionally and he had a pretty intense obsession with Star Wars, but she never thought him as the irresponsible type. Walking slowly, she began to make a mental checklist of his usually haunts, praying this was all some big misunderstanding and he was intentionally AWOL on the biggest day the company had ever had.

Stepping out again onto the fourth floor, she instantly sensed something was different. Instead of the droll sound of Sandy, their penny stockbroker neighbor on a call, she heard a multitude of voices. Coming from their office.

Heart pounding, she strode along the faded corridor's carpet, tightening her purse under her arm and finding the pepper spray that she always kept in her pocket. Readying herself, preparing for anything-

Except this.

Three uniformed NYPD officers rifling through her filing cabinet and one trench coat clad (presumably) detective sat at her desk, looking through her laptop.

"What the hell-"

Slick as shit, the 'detective' flashed her a smile, and his badge, quickly standing and holding out his hand. "Emma Swan, I presume? I'm Detective Humbert. I have a warrant to search these premises-"

Quickly, Emma snatched the sheath of papers he slid across the desk. Her eyes danced over the words, sharp black against crisp white.

Investigation… criminal… fraud.

"What is this?" she demanded.

"A warrant," he replied with a too bright smile. Emma narrowed her eyes and folded her arms. Smart ass, she thought. "Where is Mr. Booth?" he continued.

Licking her lips, she shrugged, "Your guess is as good as mine."

Humbert rounded the desk and she stiffened, shirking away a little as she eyed the uniforms going through her paperwork. "I hope they're going to tidy up after themselves."

He smiled, a sickening smile, because she had to admit he was pretty damn attractive, "I wouldn't worry about that." The step he took closer to her made the breath catch in the throat as his hands went to his hips-

"What-" she began.

"Emma Swan, I am arresting you on suspicion of conspiracy to commit fraud-"

"What-" she repeated, before emitting a yelp as one of the uniforms began to snap a pair of handcuffs on her.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning."

The bagel she had just eaten turned to lead in her stomach as she dropped from her euphoric high to a new all-time low. She didn't know how, she didn't know why but-

August had just fucked her over.

***  
"Thank you," Emma whispered, her throat dry and her head aching. Five hours in lock up had given her sore feet and a burning fear of the justice system. Locked in a cell with five other women (three of who she was sure where high on something) had left her clawing at the walls. The first fresh breath of air she took as she stepped outside the precinct was the sweetest she had tasted in a long time.

"No problem," Ruby smiled, pulling her into a hug as Emma began to compose herself.

Her one phone call had turned into three. She'd called Neal's cell first, tears streaming from her eyes as the seriousness of her situation had hit. Two hours waiting, followed by 90 minutes of grilling from Detective Humbert, had left her knees shaking. When Neal hadn't answered she had tried his office; Ariel, his secretary told her he was 'in a meeting' and promised he would call back before slamming the phone down. She'd never liked that girl.

After pleading with the on-call sergeant, she had finally managed to reach Ruby. Groggy with sleep after another late shift at the bar, Ruby had quickly sharpened up as Emma brought her up to speed with her predicament. Forty-five minutes later she was there with a credit card and a few sharp words for the officer on the front desk

"I didn't do anything," Emma promised, squeezing her friend tight before letting go and giving her a faint smile.

"I know Emma. I told you that August was a little shady-"

Emma silenced her with a glance. Now was not a time for 'I told you so'. Now all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and forget what had happened- for a few hours at least.

Clearing her throat, Ruby released her best friend's arms. "So, do you wanna come to my place? I have vodka-"

Off course she had vodka. Being a bar manager, one thing Ruby was never short of was liquor.

"No," Emma shook her head, "To be honest, I just want to sleep. I think I'll head to Neal's and wait for him to finish work."

"If you're sure you'll be okay-"

"I promise," Emma insisted. "But if it makes you better I'll head over to The Rabbit Hole tonight and we can talk properly."

With a smile, Ruby nodded, "Okay. But no slipping out on me - you just cost me $1,000."

"Aren't I worth it?" Emma teased, enjoying the chance to lighten the mood a little.

Ruby paused a second, her face serious, before she broke into a grin. "I guess so. Subway?" she asked.

"I think this situation calls for a taxi."

The two hugged before Emma found herself on the curb, flagging down a yellow cab. She sank into the black leather seat, foregoing her seatbelt, too preoccupied with the royal mess her life had become that day. She glanced at her phone. 4:02. Neal usually got out of his job at five, was home by five-thirty. Just enough time to take a bath (her favorite thing about his apartment was the free standing, cast iron bath), maybe order some takeout.

She tipped the cabbie generously. Her key to Neal's apartment was in her hand before she had even reached the door, her feet throbbing, her eyes tired-

The key slid into the lock and the door opened into his small hallway. His one bedroom place was not much bigger than her studio, but so cleverly designed it felt much bigger. She left her coat by the door, smiling at the picture that was hung near the light switch - the two of them last summer in Cape Cod. They had taken a boat to go whale watching but he had been seasick most of the day-

A sudden sound made her pause. Dropping her purse, she retrieved her pepper spray, slipping off her court shoes as she held her breath.

A groan. A bang.

Slowly she stepped further into the apartment, her heart racing, suddenly finding that all the adrenaline in her system had not already been used. Her bare feet slid across the laminated flooring, avoiding the patches she knew creaked, tiptoeing around the loveseat.

The sound was coming from the bedroom.

Slowly exhaling, she thought her heart was going to burst. The pepper spray was in her hand, held aloft as the turned the handle of the door to his room. Gently easing it open, her eyes scanned the scene in front of her.

Ariel. Naked. Straddling her boyfriend. Reverse cowgirl style.

Freezing, her jaw dropped. It took a second for the two to notice her. Ariel squealed as she slid off Neal. Neal clawed at the sheets, trying to cover his naked ass.

"Emma…"

Her lips tried to form words but none came.

Ariel was babbling, pulling on her shirt and some panties as Emma stared, still hoping that this was some kind of awful dream. Maybe the whole day was.

"Emma?" Neal asked, his tone pleading, "You're getting the wrong idea here-"

And that made her snap.

"The wrong idea Neal? The wrong fucking idea?"

The venom in her tone had him leaning back against the pillows (the ones she had bought him last Christmas - duck feather, $50 a pop).

"Baby-"

The sheet was around his waist and his legs were swinging onto the floor before she could remove herself from the situation. She ran towards the kitchen, her stomach retching at the image of their naked, sweaty bodies. Leaning over the sink as she tried to catch her breath.

"Babe-"

She snapped around at the sound of his voice, his arm outstretched.

"Don't you fucking babe me. You were - she was-"

A wave of nausea rose again, the bitter bile hitting the back of her throat as she pressed her eyes closed.

"It's not what you think -" he replied limply.

"Oh really?" she spat, tears burning again, "So you weren't just fucking your secretary? Your secretary Neal? That's so fucking cliche!"

She really, really wanted to throw something. So she grabbed the nearest thing she could find, a dishcloth, and aimed it squarely for his face. He flinched, dipping just enough so she could see her slipping out of the apartment door.

"She gave me no choice."

Emma snorted in disgust. The bitter taste in her mouth was becoming overpowering. She reached into the dishwasher for a glass, filling it with cold water, but not replying.

"You don't understand. She would not leave me alone. Following me, leaving little notes-"

Nodding, Emma clenched the glass until her knuckles blanched, sinking back a few refreshing gulps as he continued.

"I thought if I slept with her, maybe she would get over me-"

And that was when she started to laugh. A deep, rumbling belly laugh that had her whole body shaking until she had to put down the glass of water before she dropped it. Rubbing her eyes with her palms, she laughed until her stomach ached. When she looked at him again, he was wringing his hands, the white sheet now tied in a knot at his waist.

"If you think I'm stupid enough to believe that sort of crap, you clearly don't know me as well as I thought you did."

"Emma," he began, reaching out for her again.

"Don't 'Emma' me." Chuckling a little, she bit her lip and shook her head wryly. Neal cut a rather pathetic figure, half naked with a look of shame on his face, his burgeoning paunch resting on the cotton of his makeshift skirt.

"It meant nothing."

"And that makes it okay?"

She stared at him for a moment - half-willing him to say something. Pathetically half-hoping that it was all a mistake…

Damn, she wanted to tell him about August - wanted to show him that his shitty actions were even more shiftily timed. But somehow that would mean he had won, that a day where both her work and her love life hit the crapper made him all the more powerful. It sounded stupid as she thought it, but the idea wouldn't budge.

So instead she straightened her shoulders and strode past him. Picking up her shoes and purse, she undid the door latch before turning to face him. She whispered, "Don't call me," then slammed the door shut, just as fresh tears began to fall.

***  
When she finally trudged home and saw an anonymous looking brown envelope taped to her door, she debated whether or not to open it.

Perhaps it's a death threat? Or a bribery attempt? Really, could anything make today worse?

The cocoa she prepared is just enough to clear the fog in her mind so she could slide her finger under the flap and pull out the official looking letter inside.

The words meld into one.

Violation… illegal…court action… seven days.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Even though she'd known that one day the building inspector would likely find the not-so-legal subdivisions in her building, after four years she'd thought that maybe she'd got lucky.

The news was more than enough reason, to have her quickly replace her pantsuit and shirt with jeans and a sweater and almost run the ten blocks to The Rabbit Hole.

Since it was a Thursday night, Ruby was on the bar. She waved when she saw her friend, pointing to a free bar stool. The place was busy enough, a few booths of college kids, some business types still in their suits, some couples - the usual for the time of year. By the time she reached her stool, a straight up bourbon is waiting. Ruby's generous measures making her strangely glad that she had no work tomorrow.

(Did she even have a job?)

One gulp and half the drink was gone before Ruby was leaning over the bar, resting her chin on her palm, a look of concern crossing her sharply beautiful features. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Emma caught her eye and sucked in a deep breath. "Neal's cheating on me and I'm being evicted."

Ruby's expression changed from playful to shocked. Emma took another sip as she pulled out the crumpled eviction letter from her jeans pocket. Her friend automatically refilled the glass as she read the note.

"Oh Emma…"

The pity in her tone made Emma squirm. "It's not unexpected Ruby, I actually can't believe it hasn't happened sooner."

Ruby nodded sympathetically, hugging the bottle of liquor to her chest. "And, Neal?" she asked tentatively.

"I found him naked in bed with his secretary."

"The redhead?"

Emma nodded. The bourbon was now burning her stomach, reminding her of how little she had eaten that day. Reminding her of why she hadn't eaten

"Fuck. I'm so sorry."

"Thanks," Emma sighed. Clawing back her hair from her face, she finally tried to let herself relax a little. Ruby was a straight talker and that's what Emma liked about her. She never tried to suffocate her friends with kindness, instead her specialty was a glass of liquor and a friendly ear.

Only now did Emma realize how tense she had been all day. Her body had been strung tight like a bow ever since she had stepped back into the office to find that the NYPD had let themselves in. "I guess, they say bad things come in threes."

"They do," Ruby agreed, wiping a nonexistent stain from the bar before a tall, balding guy raised his hand for service. "I'll just be a minute."

Watching her friend move down the bar, Emma cradled the glass between her hands and hung the heels of her boots on the metal bar at the bottom of the stool. The low, dull, beat of the casual music throbbed in her head as the alcohol took effect. A brief moment of lucidity descended. The pain in her head lifted, the tang of alcohol tart on her tongue.

How had the day took such a drastic turn?

If she was honest, she was still numb. It was all so surreal.

Perhaps she was still dreaming. She briefly let herself imagine that this was some cruel joke that her mind had paid her. That she would wake in her bed and the painful events of the day would be a mere faint memory.

She wasn't out on bail. She wasn't unemployed. Her boyfriend wasn't cheating. She wasn't being evicted…

Surely, it was more than a woman could take.

"Any news on August?"

"Hmm?" Emma hummed, broken from her thoughts. She licked her lips and shrugged. "The detective called me on my way here, said they were close to tracking him down."

"That's good news," Ruby replied, trying to sound bright. "He can clear your name."

Emma fidgeted in her seat.

"Maybe. But I'll still be unemployed - and homeless."

"You know you can crash on my couch for as long as you need to."

"Thanks," she whispered in reply.

The college kids were shouting for more shots, so after a quick pour of Johnnie Walker, Ruby grabbed a bottle of tequila and headed over to them.

It's times like these, she realized, when everything was suddenly clear.

What the hell had she done with her life for the past six years? Six hard, long years in Manhattan and what had she achieved? A criminal employer, a shitty apartment, an unfaithful boyfriend…

Was this it? The sum total of her life achievements so far?

She drowned the thought in another drink.

Tomorrow. She would worry about all this tomorrow.


	2. All Out of Love

_**Hey guys! Chapter 2. A heads up - Killian will not be appearing until Chapter 4, but he will be worth the wait, I promise. I'm hoping to update every few days as I'm actually ahead with writing this story. **_

_**Bonus kudos points if you can work out the reasons for my chapter titles!**_

A friend had once said to Emma, that alcohol makes you feel the way you should feel all the time.

_Damn straight, _the thought as she slumped up the stairs to her apartment. Her mind was finally at ease, a large amount of bourbon combined with a few shots with the college kids - who had insisted she join them at around midnight - had done the trick. Her skin buzzed, a smile laced her lips and at least, for now, everything seemed manageable.

That was until she saw the sleeping form of Neal Cassidy hunched against her door.

"What the fuck?" she cried without thinking, his eyes instantly springing open. They were rimmed red, just like hers had been for much of the day.

"Emma-"

Pursing her lips, she pulled her key from her purse. She was not ready to see him. It was too late, she was too drunk and it was just too damn soon.

Beside her, he stood a little awkwardly, stretching limbs that showed signs of time sitting on the hard wooden floor. Trying her best to ignore him, she pushed the key into the lock and went inside.

"Emma-"

She spun round, a scowl on her face when she saw he was trying to follow her, "Did I say you could come inside?"

"Emma, please-"

"What?" she snapped, blood boiling in her veins, the happy alcohol-induced stupor now replaced by a burning rage. "After what I saw today, what could you possibly want?"

A moment of silence stretched out between the two. His brown eyes crinkled at the edges - the way they did when he was upset. She felt a fleeting sensation of pity.

"I wanted to talk." His brow creased and his hands slipped into his jeans pockets. He was looking at the floor now, avoiding her gaze as she stood, arms crossed, six feet away from him.

"It's a little late for that," she retorted. Tossing her purse aside she toed off her boots, trying to quell the anger his presence had induced.

"I know. And I'm sorry, but-"

"You're sorry?" She started to laugh. "Jesus Neal, I've just about had the worst day of my life and you're sorry? Sweet holy hell! Ha!"

A little manically, she began to stomp around the apartment, picking up last night's wine glasses and coffee cups, tossing them in the sink. Punching the pillows of her bed to plump them up - anything, anything to release some tension. For a couple of minutes he stood watching her, fidgeting on his feet, seemingly at a loss for words.

"I know what I did was wrong," he finally said in a quiet tone, "And I have a _lot _of making up to do, but Emma, I want to make this work. Let's not ruin both our lives over a mistake."

The alcohol made the words bounce around her head. The selfish bastard had no idea what had happened to her, she realized with a start. Muttering to herself, she grabbed her hairbrush and began to attack her neglected locks. "Of course. Of course you think this is all about you. You think my whole life is about you-"

Somehow he was suddenly in front of her, grasping her forearms, making her start. "Hey, babe, what can I do to fix this?"

The tears were back, hotter and saltier than ever, as they began to peal down her cheeks. Her breathing was shuddered. Her vision blurred, she looked at his face and felt her heart break. That familiar face. The man who had been part of her life for almost four years. The man she thought loved her.

But if he loved her, how could he have slept with someone else?

"Hey," he soothed, pulling her closer to his chest, running his hand down her hair. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-" She felt him kiss her hairline, the familiar gesture traitorously comforting.

Letting the sobs rack her body until her breaths became softer and more even, she balled her fists against his chest. "I'm getting evicted," she explained, her voice barely above a whisper, "And this morning the NYPD raided the office. August - he's done something. I'm not sure of the details but they had me in lock up most of the day 'til Ruby got me out."

It felt soothing to let out those words. It felt good to be held, to be comforted.

"Oh Em, Christ, I'm so sorry-"

She swallowed back another wave of tears and leant back to look him in the eye. "I tried to call you…"

His eyes closed guiltily and he nodded softly. "And I…" The implication of his unspoken words hung in the air. "I'm a piece of crap."

"That you are," she replied, her breath shuddering.

"But August, that fucker, I told you-"

Just as she had done with Ruby, she stilled him with a glance. He clenched his jaw and gave a curt nod.

Quietly she extricated herself from his embrace, taking a step back to get some breathing space. The room span a little. She was still drunk.

"I haven't really had time to process all of this. But needless to say, your liaison with the redhead could have been better timed." Bitterness tinged her words. Her heart ached with the pain, the image of them naked in the bed she had slept in countless times, piercing it anew.

"Fuck," Neal sighed, rubbing his face with his hands.

The hot anger in her veins was replaced with cool realization.

She had lost everything. Within the span of 24 hours, her life had been turned upside down.

Maybe he was all she had left.

"I know nothing I can say now can fix this. But I love you, Em. Maybe I've not been acting like that, especially today…"

She caught his eye. The two stared at each other for a moment.

"How can I fix this?"

"Maybe you can't," she admitted.

_He was all she had._

"I need to try - we need to try-"

"You slept with another woman, Neal. There are things I could maybe forgive, but that? And then I walked in on you-"

The nausea was back, perhaps slightly influenced by the liquor. She ran towards the small bathroom, retching as she reached it. But the feeling quickly left and she sat, exhausted on the worn linoleum floor.

Neal appeared in the doorway. She looked up at him, the way she had done a thousand times before and had to stop herself smiling, forgetting, for just a second, what had happened.

"Come on, let's get you to bed."

Before she could protest, his arms were around her waist, pulling her to stand before carrying her, bridal style, to her bed. He looked her in the eye as he unfastened the button that closed her jeans, unzipping the fly before tugging them down her legs. Grabbing the comforter, he pulled it over her shivering body before tucking it under her arms.

When his hand reached out to stroke her cheek she flinched at first, biting her lips and taking a deep breath. Then his fingers began to run through her hair, his thumb brushing away errant strands as he settled himself, sitting next to her. She let her eyes close - let herself forget for a little while her worries. Maybe she could pretend she hadn't seen them? That way at least something in her life could be fixed, she could stay with Neal until she got on her feet again. Maybe the thing with August was all a big misunderstanding…

Reaching up and pulling his mouth down to hers was the most natural thing in the world. His lips were comforting and familiar, slanting slowly across her mouth, their warmth inviting and tender. Their tongues met and she pulled him closer, enjoying his weight pushing her further into the mattress, letting his kisses ease the pain.

Their arms tangled together as he pushed away the comforter again, his hands sliding under her sweater, raking over her skin, making her body hum. So familiar. So soothing.

Hot, damp kisses ran don her throat, breaking only while she tugged her sweater over her head. A second later his shirt was gone too. The delicious sensation of flesh against flesh, lessening the ache in her heart, helping her forget.

With a start, she paused, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him away.

"Stop," she panted, scrambling to sit, pushing herself away from him as he sat back on his haunches.

"What?' he asked, breathing heavy, his eyes bearing the lustful look she knew so well.

That she had last seen that afternoon.

Eyes pressed closed, she moistened her lips and pulled her hair to the nape of her neck. "I - I can't."

"Okay," Neal replied slowly, "I understand, this will take time-"

"No," she interrupted softly, "No, you don't- you don't understand."

Wide brown eyes, met soft green ones.

Something had happened. More than the events of the day, she had come to question why she and him where together. Habit? Familiarity? Ease?

"Are you happy?" she asked.

Neal frowned, shrugging his shoulders a little as he tilted his head, "I love you."

"That's not what I asked."

He nodded. She watched him swallow heavily.

"Why did you sleep with her?"

He hesitated. Chewing on his lip for a moment, he rubbed his palms roughly across his denim clad thighs. "I was flattered. The chase, you know. It was exciting."

"Maybe it's the liquor… Maybe I'm tired…" she shook her head and pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, "It's over."

He began to protest.

"Over," she repeated, more firmly, now clenching her fists as the tears threatened again.

"But I love you. Em, let's not be hasty."

"Go," she whispered, holding him in a steady stare.

"Don't throw away four years over this."

"I'm not the one who threw them away, Neal."

"Baby…"

"Go," she repeated.

She was thankful when he pushed himself off the bed and grabbed his shirt. Emma pulled the comforter back to cover her body as he dressed.

"This isn't over," he said as he walked to the door. It wasn't a threat. It was more a promise.

Ignoring him, she held her breath until the door clicked closed, before finally allowing her body to relax and sink slowly to sleep.

**Reviews and feedback mean the world to me. So if you have time to leave a review or drop me a message it will be massively appreciated.**


	3. Wind of Change

Storybrooke, Maine is famous for three things: lobster, quaint B&amp;Bs and the fact that it never, ever changes. This thought was prominent in Emma's mind as soon as she saw the 'Welcome to Storybrooke' sign through sleep starved eyes.

The Greyhound bus journeyed along Main Street, not long after dawn. Vision blurry, she watched as the shopkeepers began to lift the shutters on their stores and early risers walked their dogs or jogged along the quiet road.

The window where her head lay was damp and cold. A headache had formed in the middle of her temple from the chill and a lack of sleep. She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders and began to stretch out her legs. Sure, taking the bus had halved the cost of the journey home, but after the ten hour journey, she was now beginning to doubt the wisdom of her frugal ways. She definitely needed to find a job very quickly.

As the bus paused at the intersection of Main and Heart, Emma smiled when she saw Granny's Diner. Memories of afternoons spent pretending to study while drinking chocolate shakes were pleasant ones that she cherished. Whatever its current faults, Storybrooke had been an idyllic place to grow up. But now she could only imagine what it would hold for her.

The imposing grey buildings of Storybrooke high appeared next: silent and still, apart from the odd lit classroom. Emma watched the flags outside rustle in the wind and her eyes lingered on the posters that advertised the approaching homecoming dance. She could remember her last homecoming like it was yesterday. The big football game, the dance, watching Aurora Thorne get voted Homecoming Queen… what had ever happened to her?

After graduation, the promises to be friends forever had come thick and fast. Whilst packing up her apartment in New York, she had found her senior yearbook hidden within a box of trinkets. Scribbled inside were messages of friendship and hope for the future, but these were the days before Facebook, so it was easy to lose touch. She could count on one hand the number she still was still close to just over ten years later.

Her class had scattered to various colleges across the country. She moved to Chicago, most others to closer northeastern universities. Of course, some stayed, got jobs, even married young. Yet now only a handful resided their small home town. And today that number increased by one.

The decision hadn't taken long.

"You can stay with me, you know that," Ruby had promised over lattes, just a few days after Emma received her eviction notice.

"I know," Emma sighed, shrugging her shoulders, "And I also know I could get another job, but, I think I need a time out."

Arching her brows, Ruby gave her friend a queer look, "Time out? Are we in kindergarten?"

Emma replied with a wry smile. "I just mean a _break_. I've been so focused here on my job and Neal… Now they're gone, and I don't really know where I belong."

"You belong here! I'm here!" her friend protested, reaching over to take hold of her hand. "And are you sure there's no hope for you two? I mean, God, he can be an asshole, but I know how much you love him."

Slowly Emma shook her head. "I don't think so. I mean, at least not anytime soon. Of all the men in the world, I never thought he would be the type to-" She swallowed hard and pushed back the image of Neal and Ariel that had haunted her the past few days. "But you're right, I love him. Despite everything. I guess you don't stop loving someone just like that."

Ruby gently nodded. "Have you heard from him?"

"He's sent flowers. But I've ignored his calls. My brain's like mush right now and I can't face him." Laying her hands flat on the table she met her friend's eye, "And that's why I've decided to head home for a few months. Lay low. At least 'til August's case is over."

"_Home _home?"

Emma nodded, quickly holding her breath, waiting for Ruby's analysis.

"But haven't you spent the past ten years trying to escape Maine?"

Buying time, Emma took a sip of her latte. She would miss Starbuck's when she moved, she thought briefly.

"I have and look where it's got me!" she laughed nervously, her fingers balling up her napkin as she spoke. "But really, I haven't got much choice. No job, no apartment… My mom and dad will help me out for a few months. And it'll be nice to spend some time with Leo - Mom always says how much he misses me. I should be able to find some work, save up some money and then come back."

Ruby stared for a moment, pressing her scarlet-painted lips together as if digesting the news. "I understand. I do. I just wish you didn't have to go."

"Me too," Emma admitted. "But it's only temporary. I promise. And Mom and Dad have been bugging me to visit more, so this should buy me parent points."

"I'm gonna miss you. Promise you'll be back?" Tears sparkled in the corner of her friend's eyes. Emma had never seen her cry before.

"Of course," Emma replied, leaning across the table to pull her into a hug. "New York is my real home. Storybrooke is just where I grew up."

"In that case I'll let you leave," Ruby whispered into her ear, giving her a smile as she sat back in her seat. "But are you really sure this is the right way to go?"

Emma shivered, shrugging her shoulders as she admitted, "No, but at the moment it's the only real option I have."

The bus pulled up outside of the Storybrooke Trading Post, the town's hardware store that had been run by Marco Andelini for as long as she could remember. Marco had seemed old even when she was a kid, but he never seemed to change as the years went by. There was a rumor that he was some kind of magician in grade school – and that he had a magic box to sleep in that meant he never aged.

The memory made her smile. As did the small wooden sign that hung outside the store, as freshly painted and tended for as it had been all her childhood.

Taking her time, she collected her belongings, still thankful she had managed to secure two seats to herself for the whole journey.

No, she wasn't buying time.

She wasn't nervous about seeing her father.

(Facing her father.)

Her heart slowly thudded in her chest as she stepped down the stairs onto the cold, grey sidewalk and waited for her bags to be offloaded. There was no sign of him. For a moment, she thought that maybe he'd forgotten. Or the dates had been mixed up. Or something…

But then she saw his old pickup truck across the street and a moment later, his beaming smile as he exited the vehicle.

"Em! I'm sorry I'm late," he called as he dashed across the empty street.

He hugged her tightly and her breath caught in her throat. "Hey Dad," she managed.

"Leo's sick," he explained as he released her so she could collect her bag. "And your mom had to leave early for a meeting."

"Where's my little brother?"

"Not so little anymore!" he replied as he took the bag from her, "I left him with Mrs. Bowe across the street. So we'd better hurry."

Emma chuckled as she followed her father. Mrs. Bowe hated kids, almost as much as she hated dogs. Or any animals really. So she could imagine that her canine loving brother was having a whale of a time.

"How is the little guy?" she asked as she slid into the passenger seat of the truck.

"Twelve going on twenty, as usual," he replied with a wry smile. She chuckled, still not quite able to believe that her brother would soon be a teenager.

Emma sighed and lay back into the familiar comfort of the truck's leather seats. It amazed her that this thing was still running. Her father had had it longer than she cared to remember. As she grew up, she had spent afternoons watching him tinker with the engine or work a coat of wax into the paint job.

They were both quiet for a few minutes. She watched the world go by, her eyelids fluttering closed with the comforting hum of the engine.

"So how does it feel?"

"Hmmm?"

"Being back. For more than a few days, I mean?"

He flashed her a wide-toothed grin in the mirror, his deceptively youthful features bright and happy.

After hesitating for a moment, Emma swallowed and nodded slowly. "Good… I think?"

_I hope, _her mind echoed.

Her father had opened the family home's front door and then left to collect her brother, telling her to take a nap and they could catch up later. After a slow climb up the stairs and rifling through her bag for a pair of pajamas, she was under the sheets in minutes.

Sleeping in her old room was as surreal as it was soothing. Her twin size bed still bore the same floral sheets that had been her favorite in her teenage years. Her dresser was topped with small photos of now distant friends and pictures of her holding Leo as a baby.

It was too easy to drift off. Her leaden body sunk into the wiry mattress, her busy mind finally quietening.

"Emsy!"

Emma groaned at the combined sound of her brother's ridiculously loud pre-pubescent voice and the impact of him landing on her stomach as he leapt onto her bed.

"Hey kid," she moaned, struggling to sit up, "I thought you were sick."

"Was sick. Past tense," he shrugged. "Now I feel great!" he grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

"So I see," Emma smiled. "What time is it?"

"Almost 2:30. Dad said I should leave you to sleep, but I wanted to say hi. And so did Cricket."

On cue, Leo's two year old yellow Labrador came bounding into the room, jumping onto the bed easily and covering Emma's face in wet doggy kisses.

"Hey boy, nice to see you too," she laughed as she leaned away, giving the canine a quick scratch behind the ears until he sat back on his hind legs and Leo enveloped him in a hug.

"How long are you back for?" Leo asked as he rubbed his face against Cricket's soft, fur coat.

Well, he certainly didn't beat around the bush.

"I don't know… Maybe a couple of months or so…"

"Mom said you broke up with Neal."

Emma opened her mouth to reply, but Leo beat her. "I didn't like him that much so I'm glad. Cos' I'm your brother and whoever you marry is going to have to ask me."

A million responses whirled in her brain, but the one that one was, "I'm not exactly sure that's how it works…"

"Sure it is," he replied with a shaky wink. "So the next guy you date has to go through me." He punctuated his sentence by digging his thumb into his puffed out chest.

"Okay, well lucky for you I won't be dating anyone for a very long time." Eager to change the subject, Emma swung her legs onto the bedroom floor. "Hey kid, how about you take me downstairs and we make some hot cocoa?"

Leo's eyes lit up at the prospect of the sweet drink. "Sure. And then we can play Minecraft and then I can show you my Pokemon collection-"

He was out of the door before Emma could find her robe and slippers, happily talking away to himself as Cricket trundled behind him.

She couldn't deny that she missed him.

"Do you have enough chicken Emma? And mashed potatoes? Do you need another napkin?"

"Mary-Margaret, she's fine," David Nolan laughed, slipping his hand over his wife's and catching her eye.

"Yeah Mom, I'm good," Emma agreed, "Everything is delicious."

"I've always worried about you living alone, not eating enough of the right things…"

"As you have told me in every phone call." Emma smiled at her mother, purposefully picking up a spoonful of greens and shoveling into her mouth. "I'm old enough to take care of myself."

"And you will never be old enough for me to stop worrying."

"So when do your boxes arrive?" her father asked, breaking the light tension that had formed between the two women.

"The movers said in two days. There's quite a few - I was gonna ask, can I use the garage to store them?"

Mary-Margaret and David looked at each other. "About the garage…" her father began.

"I mean, if it's a problem I can go rent a storage unit, no biggie," Emma shrugged, looking down just in time to see Leo feeding Cricket some scraps under the table.

"No, no, it's not that at all-" David began. "Tell you what, we'll talk about it more after dinner."

Curiosity burning, Emma nodded before catching her brother's eye and giving him a wink.

Desert was her favorite, apple pie a la mode. Emma was on her second helping before her mother began to question her again. "Have you thought about work?" she asked, clearly trying to make it sound as casual as possible.

"Of course, Mom."

"And?" she prodded.

"And I'll start looking tomorrow. I told you I need to save as much as I can."

"So you can head back to New York."

"That's the plan," Emma sighed as she began to lick her spoon.

"Honey, have you thought about staying a little longer? I mean, I know Storybrooke isn't as exciting as New York-"

"Yeah Emsy," Leo chipped in, "Then we can go on dog walks and you can babysit me and-"

Emma held up her hands and both paused. "Guys, please, I've been back less than 24 hours. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"I'm sorry," her mother sighed, her forehead crinkling. "It's just, you know how much we miss you."

"I know," Emma smiled sadly. "And I do miss you too, it's just-"

Her voice trailed off as her mother's eyes met hers. An understanding passed between them.

Emma had always been a bit closer to her father. Always brushing off her mother's overt affection, preferring to lose herself in more rough and tumble activities that she could share with her dad, rather than her mother's love for literature and baking. It was a lingering regret that things between them had grown more distant over the years. Mary Margaret nodded sadly and Emma felt a painful pinch in her chest, which only lifted when her father spoke.

"Emma, ready to see the garage?"

"Sure!" she quipped brightly, before gesturing to the dishes, glad to be given an exit from the conversation.

"Leo, help your mom," David ordered and Emma laughed when her little brother groaned loudly about 'life not being fair' and 'when_ he_ is an adult'.

The strip lighting flicked to life as they stepped into the garage from the kitchen utility room. It was instantly colder than the rest of the house, their breathing forming ghostly clouds of mist as her eyes adjusted.

"So what did you-"

She stopped when she saw it. Bright yellow paint gleaming under the fluorescence. The bug. _Her _bug.

After a moment, she turned and looked at her father who was grinning widely. "What is this…?"

"It's your car. I finally finished it."

Confused and a little dazed, Emma dashed towards the vehicle, running her hand over the bodywork, inspecting the polished VW on the hood. "How-"

"I thought you needed a car and this has been over at Uncle Leroy's garage for so long he was going to kill me, so I bought a few parts, worked a few weekends-"

Emma raised her brows.

"Leroy helped," he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. "But it's yours now." He dipped his hand in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys which he quickly tossed to her.

"I don't know what to say," she whispered as she opened the door and slid inside.

She ran her hands over the steering wheel and worn leather seats as her dad moved into the passenger seat. She remembered when she and her father had bought this; a wreck that Uncle Leroy was planning to scrap. But she had begged and begged her father to help her buy it. It had been junior year and she made the case that she would need a car soon and yellow _was_ her favorite color. After some cajoling, he had agreed and Uncle Leroy had moved the car to a back building at his workshop that was rarely used. It had been a true father/daughter project.

But one that they had sorely underestimated. Almost every part of the car needed attention or replacement. They'd worked a few hours most weekends but by the time she had left for college there was still a huge amount that needed to be done. So the project had been abandoned; for so long that she had almost forgotten about it.

"Thank you," she smiled, unexpected tears arrived, "This is - this is amazing."

"Good," he sighed happily, wrapping one hand over hers where it lay on the stick shift, "I hoped you'd like it."

"I love it," she admitted.

"Well I thought you would appreciate a little freedom. It can't be easy going back to living with mom and dad. This way, at least you have your own transportation."

"Thank you," she repeated, wiping away a tear with the back of her other hand. Suddenly, she gave her father a grin, "But it does run, right?" she teased.

"For the time I put into it, it better. But why don't we take it for a spin now?"

Grinning, Emma tugged on her seatbelt and pushed in the key.

Maybe moving home wouldn't be quite as traumatic as she had feared.

_**A/N - Almost time to meet Killian!**_

_**Reviews and feedback are the only way I know what you think of my work. Please consider leaving a review or sending me a message on Tumblr if you have the time (same user name).**_


	4. Runaway

"Tink!"

Just outside of Granny's Diner, Emma slammed on the bug's brakes and wrenched open the driver's side door before calling again, "Tink!"

A second later, the object of her attention spun on her heel and smiled broadly. "Emma?"

The tiny blonde was wearing towering heels, her hair piled on top of her head, and as she began to stride towards the car she pulled the mirrored aviator glasses she was wearing away from her eyes. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

Emma dove out of the car and pulled her into a warm but brief hug. "Temporary glitch," she replied shrugging her shoulders, not quite wanting to delve into recent painful history this early in the day. "So I'm staying with my parents for a little while. And anyway, I could ask you the same!" she cried, laughing lightly as the two clung to each other.

"Same. Well, sort of. Staying with my Aunt Blue, saving up for massage therapy courses."

"What happened to being a stylist? I thought that was going well?"

The last she had heard from Tink, she had been living it up in Los Angeles as an assistant to one of the top celebrity stylists. Cue a Facebook feed full of glamorous looking parties and ridiculously gorgeous clothes.

Tink shrugged, "You know me. Never like to stay in one job too long. My lease came up and I thought, screw it, time for a change."

"You've got some guts Tink, glad to see you haven't changed."

Tina Bell had been one class below Emma in high school. A New Zealander by birth, she had caused quite the stir when she had come to live with her aunt. Her rebellious attitude and outrageous fashion sense made her stand out from the start, and soon she was on a first name basis with every kid in school.

It had only taken days for the nickname 'Tinkerbell' to be given to her - partially based on how similar it sounded to her name, partially because she had a penchant for tutus and glitter - and on her third day she had come to school toting a star shaped wand 'just because'.

"No one has called me that in years."

"Ah, I always thought it suited you," Emma laughed before reaching over to pull her keys out of the bug's ignition and shut her door. "So how is life in Storybrooke? As exciting as ever?" She raised a wry brow.

Tink rolled her eyes, "I've only been back a month but I'm already getting a little bored. Thank God you're here! Most of the people in this town now seem to be either under 18 or over 40."

"Well then some things really don't change," Emma quipped.

There was a buzzing sound and Tink rummaged in her bag before pulling out her phone and grimacing.

"Shit, I'm late for work. How about we catch up later? Maybe a drink or two?"

"Sure," Emma nodded. "Granny's…?" she began, looking warily at the diner-come-bar behind them. Growing up it had been just about the only drinking establishment in town - not counting The Ship and Swan, which had a less than stellar reputation.

"Well, there is this new place I've heard about, maybe we could check it out? I've been meaning to go and this gives me the perfect excuse!"

"Great," Emma replied as she began to give Tink her number.

After another quick hug, Tink dashed off, leaving Emma to lock up the bug. As she turned the key in the lock she found herself flooded with a sudden sensation - excitement? Happiness? Relief?

Truth be told, the move back to Maine had not been fully thought through. Thinking about money and rent and just getting _as far away _from Manhattan as possible had colored her actions and it was only now she realized what she would miss while being 'home'.

She had called Ruby a couple of times already to say she had arrived and fill in a few details about her journey, but it wasn't the same. Social interaction was a big reason she liked New York. The buzz. The lifestyle. And in Storybrooke it didn't really exist. So it was relief that filtered through her body as she walked up the steps to Granny's. She wasn't the only one in the same position in town. Her supposition that everyone her age had life all sewn up and perfect wasn't exactly true.

With a smile on her face, she went inside, ready to order her favorite grilled cheese and anticipate seeing her friend again that night.

The Rusty Knot was a little difficult to find at first. Her father had dropped her off at the edge of the main pier and she had pulled out her phone to follow Tink's texted instructions.

Down a side street, a left turn onto an alley - for a moment, Emma began to believe that this was all some elaborate prank until she finally saw her destination. The large wooden structure had once been a warehouse, when Storybrooke had been a busy port some hundred years ago. The building had been supplemented by the addition of porthole-shaped windows that faced out onto the water and, in lieu of a sign, above the door hung a thick coil of rope that looked like it had been dipped in copper.

Inside there was still the lingering smell of fresh paint and varnish that betrayed the newness of the bar - a stark contrast to its traditional decor. Dark wood paneling covered the walls throughout, from which hung ancient looking prints of ships and sailors. From the rafters dangled old ship's lamps, dozens of them, giving just enough illumination while keeping a cozy feel.

Slowly she made her way to the bar, checking to see if Tink was already there. The bar ran the length of the right hand side of the main bar room; its reddish stained wood glossy and smooth. Above the bottles of spirits and optics behind it, hung dozens of pieces of rope, each one tied in a complicated sailor's knot and labeled with a small brass plaque.

Behind the bar, the bartender was pouring pints of beer for another patron. She walked over and placed her purse on a stool.

"Welcome to The Rusty Knot, what's your poison?'

Turning back her head, she matched the bartender's wide smile. "What do you recommend?"

The man smiled back, his face mostly hidden between a thick hipster beard and wide rimmed black glasses. "Well, normally I recommend a glass of the Captain's Ale," he began, indicating to the drink he was currently pouring, "But you seem in need of something with more of a kick."

Emma nodded, always pleased to find a bartender who knew his clientele.

"How about a Brass Monkey? Rum, vodka and orange juice."

"Are all your drinks nautically themed?" she joked.

"Just some," he responded with a smile, as she nodded her agreement and he set to work.

A few minutes later she was slowly sipping her cocktail and she had to agree it was pretty good. She glanced at the door in time to see Tink slip inside and begin to struggle to take off her multi-buttoned trench coat. She raised her hand in greeting just as she felt the heaviness of a body falling into her and spilling half her drink onto the black napkin on which it sat.

"Hey, watch it!"

"Oh, sorry love."

Emma turned in the direction of the voice and instantly paused. Rumpled, jet black hair; leather jacket and pants (black of course) and an accent? It was an arresting sight and she felt an involuntary flush of heat creep up her cheeks.

This guy was certainly out of place in Storybrooke. After a moment's pause, she looked up to meet his eyes and goddamn it, they were bluer than she'd ever seen. She wanted to say something else in reply but for a second all words escaped her.

He beat her to it.

"Dan - put another drink for the lass on my tab." And after flashing her a bright, white smile and giving her a cheeky wink, he was gone as quickly as he arrived, taking with him the bottle of craft ale the bartender held out for him.

There was no time to be annoyed or to think about Mr. Mysterious any further, as Tink was quickly beside her, giving her a brief hug before sliding onto the next stool and ordering her own drink.

"So what do you think?" she asked, gesturing around them, "Different, huh?"

Emma nodded, "Indeed. Maybe Storybrooke _is_ changing."

"Well, you and I are here, so it has to, right?"

As soon as her drink and Emma's replacement one arrived, the two set up a tab and wandered over to find a free booth. A few more people had filled the empty tables in the meantime and the bar was developing a pleasant, warm buzz that combined with the alcohol to make Emma feel relaxed. While the two talked, she felt the knots of tension in her back begin to dissolve and the stiffness in her spine melt downwards, like candle wax, into the plush leather-covered seat.

"Were you waiting long?"

Emma shook her head, "No. Just long enough to order one of these, and then have half of it almost spilled on me. Didn't you see?"

"No! I was a little preoccupied with unravelling myself from the Burberry," Tink laughed, looking over at the expensive coat she had hung on the hat rack near the door.

Looking around, Emma saw Mr. Mysterious and pointed. "Leather pants and accent over there ran into me. At least he bought me a new drink I suppose," she sighed raising her glass before taking a sip.

"Oh, Killian?"

"You know him?" Emma asked.

Tink shrugged, "Hardly. I'm working over at Hopper's Law Firm, doing some temp work. He's come in a couple of times. That guy with him, I think his name is Will. Both are British, or so says office gossip."

"I think the accent confirms that. What the hell are they doing in a place like Storybrooke?" Emma was puzzled. Their hometown was not even on the local tourist trail, never mind the international one.

"Not sure. They moved here a couple of months ago - something about a girlfriend? I don't know." Tink shrugged as Emma tried to file away the strange twinge of disappointment she felt at the news that Mr. Mysterious was apparently taken.

"So," Emma grinned, intertwining her fingers as she placed her hands on the table in front of her. "We have about five years to catch up on."

Tink widened her eyes and picked up her glass, "Then we'd better get started!" she insisted, clinking their glasses together as both leaned in a little closer.

Over a plate of chili fries the two women romped their way through the past few years with lightning speed. Mostly, they laughed, sometimes they gave each other sad smiles and other times a sip of their drinks was the only response.

After Emma spilled the beans about her experience with Neal, Tink sat back in the booth and munched purposefully on a fry. "Dick," she finally said with a shrug.

"Tink!"

"You're trying to say he isn't a complete and utter tool?"

Emma licked her lips and toyed with her napkin. If she were honest, she had spent the last week or so trying_ not _to think about Neal Cassidy. Moving had proved to be just the distraction she needed to avoid processing what had happened. That, and steadfastly avoiding his calls.

She shrugged. "Does one mistake make the guy irredeemable?"

"Wait," Tink sighed, placing her hands in the air, "Are you trying to say you have forgiven him?"

"No, _no_…" Emma replied, _not yet, _her mind continued, "I've barely talked to him. It's just," she sucked in a deep breath, "If I spent so many years with a guy who could treat me like that, what does that say about me?"

Tink's eyes widened and she reached out and brushed her hand over her friend's outlying palm. "It makes _you_ a good person - the kind who wants to see the best in people. You've always been like that. Don't judge yourself on how others treat you."

Her friend's sage wisdom made Emma smile a little. It was true, she did always try to be an optimist. It was a trait she shared with her mother, though she was not always as successful as the older Nolan in its execution. Perhaps it was one of her flaws as opposed to a virtue.

"But hey, I think this conversation is getting a little heavy for," Tink paused and looked at her watch, "Nine thirty on a Wednesday. I say we get a refill and go play some darts."

"Is that a challenge?"

Tink winked in reply as she grabbed her purse and walked over towards the bar. Sinking the rest of her drink, she followed, quickly scanning the room for the games area which she spotted at the rear of the establishment.

Two fresh cocktails later, they made their way to the board, taking a minute to find a table to place their drinks and purses. When they turned around, who should have taken up their place near the board but Mr. Mysterious and his friend.

"Hey!" Tink exclaimed as she slammed down her Dark N Stormy, "We got here first!"

It was the other, non-tight panted man who responded. He too was sporting a leather jacket, but his was more on the casual side, as opposed to his friend's biker style. His cropped hair was slickly jelled back and his face dominated by a pair of thick, expressive eyebrows. Pulling his mouth into wide frown, he queried, "I don't see any game going on," gesturing to the blank chalkboard and empty dartboard.

"You must have seen us walk over here," Emma countered.

"Yeah," Tink added, "And besides, haven't you ever heard of ladies first?" There was a teasing swagger in her words and a playful smile on her lips that told Emma that this discussion was not solely to win possession of the next game.

"Ladies, Will-" the sudden interruption of accent and black leather made them all pause. Emma had almost forgotten he was there and as she swung around to face him she was hit anew with his swarthy aesthetic. "I propose a contest. Great Britain versus America-"

"I'm from New Zealand," Tink interrupted dryly.

"Fine. Great Britain versus the former colonies. Winner buys the next round."

Tink turned to her and squealed softly. "What do you think?" she whispered, "They are cute…" She raised her brows and Emma sighed briefly.

"Tink…"

"C'mon, a little harmless banter with two attractive men. What better way to take your mind off the ex?"

For a fleeting second, Emma caught Leather Pants staring at them. Or at her. Maybe. His tongue was just visible between his lips, his head tilted so he was looking through his brows. His sidekick was talking but she was pretty sure all his attentions were on them.

(On her.)

(Maybe.)

She shivered before conceding, "What the hell. You only live once," taking comfort in Tink's earlier detail about a girlfriend in the picture; telling herself that a little social interaction is harmless.

"Do we need to explain the rules?" Will asked, "Only, I know darts is more of a European game," he added with a smug eyebrow raise. The women looked at each other and exchanged a conspiratorial glance.

Little did their opponents know that the two had spent hours learning how to play after school at Granny's. With little other entertainment on offer in such a small town, it was just one of the ways they learned to pass the time. And perhaps win a dollar or two.

"I think we'll be okay," Emma replied slowly, biting back a smile.

Tight pants shrugged off his leather jacket, revealing a deep blue button down, as his sidekick grabbed a piece of chalk. He added both men's names to the board before turning around, "Names, ladies?"

Emma was about to speak when Tink put out her hand. "I'm Delilah and this here is my friend Michelle." Emma tossed her a questioning glance but Tink just shrugged slightly and so she decided to play along.

"Will," he said pointing to himself, "Killian," he continued hooking a thumb in his friend's direction.

"Alright then, game on!" Tink laughed.

The first throws Emma took quite easily - aiming for mid-range numbers as she sussed out the competition. Tink followed her lead, giving them both a comfortable score in the mid 400s.

Will was competent enough, scoring a triple twelve, double eight and an outer bull. Killian, however, seemed a little more arrogant in his abilities, firing off two triple twenties on his first throws but then the next dart slipped and landed in triple one.

"Ouch, that's gotta hurt," teased Emma as she lined herself up for her next turn.

Killian merely shrugged, "Got to give you some chance to win, love. Don't want a bloodbath after all."

"Aww," she replied, "How sweet," shooting him a saccharine smile.

A second later she spun around and fired in two consecutive bullseyes followed by her own triple twenty. After sauntering up to the board to retrieve her darts, she turned around and said, "You were saying?"

He pursed his lips as Will smirked. Emma wasn't sure at first whether he was annoyed or trying not laugh, such seemed his ability to mask his emotions beneath all that stubble.

"I think we should tell our new friends how we spent most afternoons in high school," Tink said as she went to take the next turn.

"Granny's has a dartboard. We're pretty good." Emma admitted and felt a little surge of triumph as she saw Will sigh. His leather-clad friend, she decided, seemed more amused than annoyed.

"Well then, ladies, I'd say the stakes are certainly raised. In that case, why don't we make this game for the next _two_ rounds?"

And Emma was just about to protest - because this was supposed to be a girls' night out and she was not in the mood for mindless flirtation over alcohol (even with guys who were taken) - but Tink beat her to the punch.

"You're on," she agreed with a little flick of her head.

And maybe Emma imagined the way Tight Pants' eyes seemed to light up.

Probably.

"One Brass Monkey, one Dark N Stormy and two pints of Captain's Ale."

Dan the bartender laid out the drinks and Killian slipped him a tip . "Thanks mate," he added in his now familiar melodic drawl.

"To winning," Tink announced holding up her glass high. Will scowled and complied, tapping her's quickly before the other two had a chance to respond.

"To wiping the floor with their asses," Emma laughed and strung an arm around her friend's shoulders.

Killian dipped his glass towards the two ladies, a brief 'touche' on his lips.

Will seemed to have a vested interest in hearing about Tink's home country and after a few cursory questions to Emma, he shifted his attentions to the smaller blonde. A little awkwardly, Emma sat with her legs crossed, her foot tapping to the beat of the music piping through the bar. Killian was typing something on his phone, sitting about a person's width away from her. A decent distance, but still a little too close for Emma's liking. It was difficult to ignore the temping scent of leather and woodsy cologne that was coming from his direction.

She tried to think of something to say. But it was weird. He wasn't her date - he wasn't even a potential date. He wasn't a friend. He wasn't exactly a stranger… And maybe all this wouldn't have mattered if she didn't find him the teeniest bit attractive, which of course she had to admit to herself she did. So the whole thing rendered her tongue tied.

"Sorry about that," he apologized as he slipped his phone back in his pocket, "So - I've not seen you around town before," he continued and she almost sighed in relief.

Instantly she turned her head towards him, "Are you always so cliched?" she taunted.

"Only after a few pints," he smirked, nodding towards his glass.

"And I _could _say the same about you," Emma bounced back, taking a sip of her drink, "But if you must ask what I'm doing here - I've just moved back.

"Back?" he asked with a quizzical smile.

"Back home," she added, "From the bright lights of New York City."

"Ah," he smiled, stretching out his legs under the table until his feet were awfully close to hers, "So something of a prodigal daughter, then?"

"Biblical references. How Catholic," she quipped, almost enjoying the smile he gave her yet thankful he wasn't digging any deeper, "But yes, something like that. And you?"

"Something similar," he replied with a toothy grin that almost hid the flash of pain that crossed his face - one that she tried to ignore but looked eerily familiar all the same. "Now then, how do prodigal daughters feel about shots?"

She paused and briefly considered the wisdom of midweek drinking, but she had to admit she was more relaxed than she had felt in days and it wasn't like she had to work tomorrow.

"Conflicted?" she finally replied, not really sure what she was trying to say with that answer.

Killian leaned in a little closer, "Well Michelle, I think it's about time to change that stance." And with that he raised his hand and called Dan the bartender back to their table.

Arm in arm, Emma and Tink walked back to the pier's parking lot where Tink's Aunt Blue had agreed to meet them. "Damn she's gonna kill me tomorrow!" Tink laughed.

It was almost one am and the still black of the night was punctuated by hundreds of stars and the sound of lapping water. Emma had forgotten how much prettier the sky was without a massive dose of light pollution.

All four had partaken in a number of shots that had evolved into a second round before the defeated pair had left just before midnight.

_"Apologies, ladies," Killian had said as the two settled their bill, "Sadly we two have to work in the morning and Will here can't afford to lose another job by turning up still drunk."_

_"'Ey!" Will cried, giving his friend a shove that made him stumble back onto the seat next to Emma._

_"It was, however, a fun evening. I hope you'll agree?"_

_While addressed to them both, Emma felt his eyes on her as he waited for a reply. His question held a hint of uncertainty. Was it his ego he was looking to bolster? Or did he actually care what they thought? Probably the former, she told herself. She knew his type all too well._

_"Of course," Tink interjected, "It's always fun to make the acquaintance of two such colorful gents."_

_Killian raised his eyebrows._

_"Are you taking the piss?" Will slurred._

_"I think it was a compliment," Killian assured him as pushed himself back up and steadied his friend with one arm. He glanced at Emma, "No?"_

_She felt her cheeks burn a little under his gaze. She was always prone to flushing when a little embarrassed. And for some reason when he looked at her, it had the same effect. "Sure," she nodded, "A compliment."_

_"Then it was an evening well spent. Good night ladies, safe journey home."_

_Killian had then slung his arm over his friends shoulder and started aiming him towards the door._

"It is pretty late…" Emma agreed as the two slowly made their way along the wooden boardwalk.

"But she did offer!" Tink countered. "And she knows me well enough to understand that I go where the night takes me."

"And I'm surprised it didn't take you wherever that Will guy was going!" Emma teased, jabbing her friend with her elbow. "You two were very cozy!"

"He has a girlfriend!" Tink hissed, "Actually she's Australian. We spent ages talking about home. He met her there while traveling."

"Oh," Emma sighed, shrugging, "If you say so."

Tink responded by sticking out her tongue. "It's the truth. Anyway, you're one to talk. You and Mr. Leather seemed to be getting on very well indeed."

"Please," she replied with a flip of her hair, "I was merely entertaining him while you and his sidekick got acquainted. Obviously my attempt at playing wingman was futile."

"Yeah, yeah," Tink laughed. "But seriously, he is kinda cute. If you're into the bad-boy kind of look. Which I am, if you're wondering."

"Urgh," Emma groaned, swinging to a stop just under one of the old-fashioned lamps that lit the entrance to the pier. "If I haven't explained already, I'm not exactly on the market right now. Or will I be, anytime soon. Besides, you said yourself, he's taken."

"I said that a girlfriend was the reason they were here in Storybrooke._ Will's_ girlfriend. She works over at the library, some cultural exchange program."

"So?" Emma responded nonchalantly, folding her arms, pretending not to get the implication in her friend's words.

Tink stared at her, her eyes wide, before dipping her head slightly as she let a moment pass.

"So…" she began before he gaze faltered and she shook her head, "So nothing."

Relinking their arms, she pushed them on the last few steps. "I'm sorry. I'm just a sucker for a little romance. I've not had much luck of my own recently."

"Well, we have that in common," Emma sighed, placing her head on her shoulder, "But you know being single is okay. Or at least I'm told it is. It's only been a couple of weeks so it still feels strange."

"Maybe you need to talk to Neal. Clear the air?|

"Maybe…"

"Or whatever. I'm sorry, I'm not trying to invade your personal life here. Look at me - first time I see you in years and I'm already sticking my nose in!"

"I think it's called being a friend," Emma conceded. "And as your friend, can you please explain the whole fake name thing, _Delilah_?"

Grinning, Tink shrugged, "Something I learned in LA. Less chance of a guy tracking you down with a fake name. Safety first."

"You do realize we're now in Storybrooke? It's not going to take a genius for someone to find out who we are regardless of the name we give?"

"Crap," Tink frowned, "I never thought of that-"

A look of alarm passed over Tink's face. Emma sucked in a breath, unsure why until she saw the beam of headlights making a turn into the pier carpark.

"In that case friend, please tell my aunt that it was your idea to stay out so late?" she pleaded.

"Sure," Emma agreed, shaking her friend, "That's what friends are for, right?"

* * *

_**So, he's here and what does that mean for Emma? She sure doesn't seem interested in pursuing anything.**_

_**If you can leave a review or a Tumblr message I would really appreciate it. Writing this is fun and rewarding but such hard work. Knowing people are enjoying it helps a lot!**_

_**And has anyone worked out the exact reason for the chapter titles? More clues to come... **_


	5. Free Fallin'

**How's the job hunt going?**

The text from Ruby flashed up on the screen of her phone. Emma stared at it. In one hand she held a copy of the _Storybrooke Mirror_ while the other nurtured a now lukewarm cup of coffee. After a few moments, the screen began to dim before it finally faded again to black.

Emma sucked back a heavy sigh.

Ten days of searching and nothing. Not a single lead on anything resembling a decent job.

She rubbed her palm against her tired eyes, hoping the slick of mascara she put on this morning wouldn't smudge and leave her with panda eyes.

That afternoon she had spent three hours dropping into businesses around town that had been recommended by her parents and their neighbors. With a folder full of freshly printed resumes, she had pulled on a positive face and attempted a matching attitude. But everywhere was the same.

_Not hiring. _

_Just took someone on. _

_The economy stinks. _

_Try next month._

By the time five pm had struck, tears had pricked her eyes as she slid back into the bug.

It wasn't supposed to be this hard. In New York she could have had twenty jobs by now. Sure, they would be low paid, shitty jobs, but it would be something.

Her eyes returned back to the employment section of the Mirror. Scanning the page, she saw the same words repeated.

_Volunteer._

_Qualifications._

_Experience._

All words that pretty much ruled her out of the application process. There wasn't much demand for someone with an English degree, whose post-college experience involved waitressing (badly), numerous temp jobs and four years working as secretary to a shady accountant. Especially, as she supposed, working for an almost convicted felon should be something she didn't mention.

It wasn't much help that she had no idea what she wanted to do anymore. Or ever, really, if she was honest. Needing money had been her primary motivation for employment for as long as she could remember.

Maybe she should have planned better; developed some career path that extended beyond 'will pay this month's rent' or 'enough for a long weekend in Mexico'. Emma picked up the cheap plastic pen she had set aside earlier, the one that said "Granny's Diner' in bold, blue print, and began to chew on the end.

She had brought this on herself, she conceded. By always hoping that things would work, somehow, she had avoided any direction in her life. Her thoughts slipped to Neal and their relationship. Quickly her mind filled with all the little things she had ignored, all the signs that things were not meant to be. The times she had felt unwanted. The moments when she questioned his commitment. Yet she had buried these feelings away, because, she realized, he had been her anchor. Her safety net. If she had him, if things worked between them, then she wasn't a complete failure.

Tightening her jaw in frustration, she felt the pen crack between her teeth and the metallic taste of ink seep onto her tongue. Quickly she spat it out, scrunching up her face at the unpalatable taste.

She needed some air.

A dark cloud formed over her mind as she pulled out of the driveway and headed towards the center of town. She paid little attention to the road ahead, instead, her thoughts bubbling and churning inside had rendered her somehow blind.

Aimlessly she turned the wheel, barely thinking about her destination, until the lights of the town dwindled and ahead was the inky black where the night sky met the sea. Pulling up beside the pier, she quickly parked and exited the bug, slamming its door and shoving her hands in her pockets. The coastal air was biting but exhilarating at the same time. Its salty tang hit the back of her throat and she closed her eyes to take a few deep breaths.

She had missed being so close to the ocean. Well, Manhattan wasn't a thousand miles from the coast, but it felt it. She could count on one hand the number of times she had gone out to Montauk for the day, to dip her toes in the always chilly Atlantic or sit on the beach and watch the waves roll in.

Tonight, though, it was too cold to contemplate sampling the waters of Storybrooke's harbor; instead she began to walk. First towards the end of the pier where she stood for a moment and watched the chalky-grey clouds drift almost imperceptibly slowly above her, revealing hints of the diamond studded sky beyond. Whilst most people prefer a clear sky at night, Emma loved the ever changing swirl of colors and textures above her. She could glance at a stormy sky a thousand times and never see the same vista.

Whilst she watched the distant light of Storybrooke's lone lighthouse filter through the mist and clouds, she pondered how much the weather that evening reflected her own mood: confused and conflicted, a mixture of clarity and fogginess. The sympathetic waves crashed against the ancient timbers of the pier, matching the pattern of her breathing, calming her mind.

Awhile she stood, staring out at nothing in particular. Then it was without thought that she turned her back on the harbor. Her earlier frustration was still buzzing through her system, causing her to clench her fists as the heels of her boots clipped against the concrete of the boardwalk. A turn here or there amidst the crumbling buildings of the harbor had her hopelessly lost within minutes.

When she finally came to a halt, her ears pricked up at the sound of acoustic music. The soft strumming of a guitar melded with a soothing, mellow voice and for a moment Emma worried she was imagining it. But as she looked back over her shoulder, she caught sight of the soft lighting of The Rusty Knot as it glanced off the cobbled footpath that ran between the warehouses.

As a rule, she was not the type to frequent bars alone, especially on a Friday night when according to social mores she should have better things to do. Yet tonight, she didn't care. Perhaps a drink and some bar talk would provide an ounce of perspective. Tentatively, she took a few steps towards the tavern, her eyes flickering the chalkboard that stood beside the door proclaiming 'Acoustic Night - all welcome'.

Inside it was busy, as she expected. Picking her way through the tables, she managed to find an empty stool at the farthest end of the bar, near the bar hatch and kitchen. Sliding onto her seat, she scowled briefly when she saw the only server was already taking the order of another patron.

Feeling hot in the close air of the bar, the chunky buttons of her coat occupied her attention for a few moments and she briefly acknowledged the sound to the bar hatch swinging open and closed.

"Are you being served?"

Her head quirked to one side at the odd phrasing and accent. She looked up, just as she was tugging undone the final button, and quickly found herself staring into intense, blue eyes.

"Michelle?"

"Tight Pants-" She replied without thinking, before clearing her throat and pasting on a smile, "I mean, Killian…"

He raised his eyebrow in response and she took a slow breath as she registered the sight in front of her. Mr. Leather from last week, still in black, minus the leather, a bar towel slung nonchalantly over his shoulder.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he smirked, a devious twinkle in his eye that she couldn't help but notice.

Emma shrugged off her coat and scrunched up her nose in momentary confusion. "Wait, you… work here? I had no idea…"

"Yes I do - and here I was hoping you had come here to see me," he held a palm against his chest and feigned injury, Emma chuckled and shook her head.

Further down the bar, another customer raised his hand with a twenty between his fingers. "Two minutes, love," Killian replied, adding a wink.

_Someone's looking for a big tip, _she thought as she found a coat peg on which to hang her jacket and made her way back to the bar. He was back already, arms folded.

"So then, now that my pride has been wounded, how about a drink." He paused a second and frowned, "You look like you need one," he added, a little quieter. For a second she saw a spark of something pass his face. Something like sympathy. Or perhaps understanding.

For a moment Emma was prepared to reply with a sarcastic quip. However, something told her, this was his way of flirting. "A glass of Captain's Ale please."

"As you wish," he nodded, grabbing a branded glass and turned on the tap, the beer filling it quickly as he grabbed napkin and laid it in front of her. She nursed the drink as he turned back to the register. The exterior of the glass was moist to the touch but her already chilled fingers didn't register the temperature.

"How's the drink?"

Startled, she looked up and smiled without thinking. "Great."

She looked away and began to chew on her lips, her fingers tapping against the glass.

"Not so talkative this evening, then?" he quipped.

Emma shrugged. "One of those days."

"Want to talk about it?"

Part of her did. Spilling her inner turmoil to an (almost) stranger would have been somewhat cathartic right now. But something stopped her; made her hold her breath and, finally, shake her head. "Not really?" she admitted.

Thankfully, he nodded his head in understanding and the knot of anxiety that she was beginning to feel in her stomach loosened and she felt herself relax. "But I would like to know about this-" She added, gesturing to his place behind the bar.

"Does my presence here surprise you?"

His words had an undeniably flirty edge - one that she was coming to understand was just his usual demeanor, yet was still making her blush a little.

"You seem to think I spend a lot of my time thinking about you."

"Don't you?" he teased, his palms flat on the bar as he leaned a little closer and bit his lip. "But since you asked so nicely, this is my evening job. Last week you happened upon one of my few nights off."

"And yet you were still here…"

"Well, don't you know this is the best watering hole this town has to offer?"

"You have to say that, you work here." she retorted, pursing her lips and looking back at those too, too blue eyes that she now couldn't help but notice.

(And then a flash of a memory hit her. Neal's soft brown eyes. As he told her he loved her. In the sun when she could make out the golden flecks around the iris. Late at night when they seemed almost black).

She scrunched her eyes closed.

Looking down into the amber liquid, she decided to change the subject. "So you have two jobs?"

It was not that she cared what this guy did with his time. But talking stopped her from thinking. And right now thinking too much was painful and dangerous.

"Three actually."

"Three?" she replied incredulously. "And here I am struggling to find one."

He laughed softly and she registered the way his eyes crinkled and the brightness of his smile.

He had a great smile, she had to admit.

"You'll find I'm not overly fussy on the type of employment. I work nights here, days as a clerk at the courthouse and Mrs. Lucas kindly subsidizes my rent while I provide handyman and other sundry services her establishment requires."

Emma paused a moment. This man was being incredibly open about his situation. Maybe it was so long living in New York, but she was not used to someone she barely knew, revealing so much about their life.

"That must keep you… busy," she replied.

"Well, there's one thing you need to know about a Jones, sweetheart, we are nothing if not hard working."

Further down the bar another customer waved to get his attention and Emma was left again with her thoughts and her now lukewarm beer. She took a small sip and swirled it over her tongue, the mellow, deep flavor invading every space in her mouth.

She'd almost forgotten the music that had lured her into the bar, but now it filled her ears as her conversation had halted. Spinning around on her chair, she could see a small stage set up near the booth where she and Tink sat during their previous visit. A stool and a mic were the only items on stage and a sole guitar player sat strumming – Emma knew the song was familiar, but the name escaped her.

"Has anyone told you have rather stunning eyes?"

Emma let out a gasp at the unexpected words, glancing to her side she saw Killian replacing the bar hatch, a tray in his hand. "Damn, you startled me."

"Always nice to have a lady catching her breath," he replied with a quick eyebrow raise. Emma chuckled softly, choosing to ignore his compliment and the way it gave her a slightly giddy feeling in the stomach.

_Definitely wants a tip, _she mused.

"Are you enjoying the entertainment?"

He didn't seem to be in any hurry to get on with his duties, so she twisted a little on the stool so she could talk to him.

"It's not bad," she admitted as she watched the singer lean closer to the mic as he soulfully fell into another chorus. "There used to be a bar, near my apartment in New York that had open mic nights."

"Do you play?"

She shook her head, taking another sip from her almost empty glass. "Neal does though," she added without thinking.

It was the first time she has said his name out loud in days. Even his calls had dwindled somewhat - not that she had yet answered any of them. Killian cocked his head to one side and repeated, "Neal?"

Moistening her lips, she took a deep breath. "My, um… ex?"

Killian began to rub his thumb on the edge of tray in his hands, staring at his own fingers as he replied. "You don't seem so sure about your relationship status, love."

And the truth was she wasn't. It had ended, but it didn't feel like it was over. With everything else that was going on, she was still yet to deal with and mourn what she had lost.

Maybe she did need to talk to Neal.

"It's complicated," she replied softly. He nodded gently, understanding that this topic was off the agenda.

Quietly he walked away, collecting a few glasses as she watched him, silently appreciating his tall and lithe form, unconsciously comparing him to Neal's shorter, stockier build.

A few moments later, he was crouched behind the bar, loading the dishwasher.

"Why three jobs?" she suddenly asked, recalling their earlier conversation and just a little curious to know more about the enigmatic British bartender with a penchant for black. He peered at her, standing and wiping his palms on the dishcloth hanging from a belt loop on his dark jeans.

"My boat."

"Boat?" she asked, confused. He took out his phone from his back pocket and pressed a few buttons, before sliding it across the bar to her.

There on the screen was a picture of a boat. She had thought for a second he had meant some form of innuendo - she never quote got British humor. It was a small, white and blue vessel, with a tall mast, sails tied back, and a cabin, though it was difficult to gauge its size without a frame of reference. She could just make out the name 'The Jolly Roger' written in faded paint on its hull.

"You sail?"

"You seem surprised," he replied, reclaiming his phone.

"It's just all that leather…I took you more as maybe a motorcycle type."

"Never judge a book by its cover," he teased. "I've sailed since I was a lad. My brother taught me. I'm trying to get enough money together to repair The Jolly here and take her out onto the seas."

"I can't believe you named your ship 'The Jolly Roger'…"

"That was her name long before I acquired her. But I have to admit it was part of the appeal."

"Fancy yourself the pirate, then?" she teased, sinking back the last of her drink.

"Only in the most literal sense, love."

He winked again. She shouldn't find that charming, but she did, averting her eyes from his as he busied himself once more behind the bar.

With her drink now finished, she passed over her card to pay for the bill.

"Emma? I thought your name was Michelle…" She looked up to see him studying the name punched onto her Visa. Cringing inside, she mentally berated Tink.

"About that," Emma began, "My friend is a little over cautious. She used to live in LA." She shrugged by way of explanation and Killian seemed to understand, nodding slowly.

She reached out her hand. "Let's start again - Emma Swan, nice to meet you."

Chuckling, he held his palm out to meet hers. "Killian Jones, at your service."

His hand was warm and surprisingly soft; big enough to wrap around her fingers in a firm, confident grip. Heat prickled behind her ears at his touch. Biting her lip, she gently pulled her hand away, shaking away the strange feeling settling in her chest.

After signing her receipt, she lifted her hand in an awkward wave. "See you around?" she suggested.

"Aye," he nodded, "See you around."

Grabbing her coat, she dove back out into the night chill, barely remembering the troubles that had sent her on this expedition to begin with.

(She tipped him 30%. He had earned it.)

"I was wondering where you were."

Emma closed the front door firmly behind herself and rolled her eyes. It was past midnight when she had parked the bug and she hadn't expected anyone to still be up.

"Checking up on me?" she responded as she strode towards the kitchen. Her mother was sitting at the table, her hands wrapped around a mug of something hot, steam rising up in small swirls around her face.

"No. Just… caring," she replied with a soft smile. "The pot's freshly boiled."

Wordlessly, Emma wandered over to the small cupboard above the sink and pulled out her faded UCHICAGO mug and the tin of cocoa that her mother always kept freshly stocked. The tart scent of the beverage pricked at her senses as the liquid and powder swirled together. After a quick stir, she topped it with a sprinkle of cinnamon and then moved to sit opposite her mother.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"Are you sure they are worth that much?" Emma quipped.

"You seem-" her mother paused, as if searching for the right word, "Restless…"

Emma shrugged. "You could call it restless. Or maybe lacking direction," she sighed.

Mary Margaret Nolan didn't speak. Instead the two women sat in silence a moment as Emma took a few delicious sips of cocoa - enough to chase away the last of the evening's chill.

"Do you think I made a mistake?"

"How so?"

Biting her lip, Emma stared at the oak dining table that had sat in the kitchen for as long as she could remember. Her eyes traced the burn mark her father had made when he placed a scalding pot on the surface, and the gouge marks that ran down a side from that one time she had tried to help chop vegetables for dinner.

"Leaving New York. Leaving _Neal. _Maybe I was hasty."

"I know you haven't said much about what happened between you two…"

Emma looked up and stared at her mother. "I caught him cheating. With my own two eyes," she shook her head, "But now I'm wondering, did I give everything up that was good in my life? Should I have forgiven him?" A strange shiver took over her body as she held the mug tighter. "Being here… I feel so lost. I feel like I don't really know myself anymore."

Mary Margaret reached her hand over the table and her fingers brushed over her daughters. "Forgiveness is a good thing, Emma. Hatred and regret- it eats away at you and changes a person. But does that mean you should take him back? Only you can make that decision. But whatever you do, it has to be for the right reason."

Softly sighing, Emma sank back a little in her chair. "I just wanted it to work between us - so much. You and dad met so young and you have this perfect relationship-"

"Honey," her mother interrupted, "Nothing's ever perfect."

After giving a brief smile, Emma continued, "I guess it's all in the eye of the beholder. I wanted to be a success at something. Even if that something was a relationship. God, there were a few times it didn't feel right. I'd catch him in a small lie, or he'd just act strangely… And I'd shrug it off. Because doubting him was a can of worms I didn't want to open. Well, that can of worms just exploded all over my face."

"Emma, you are a success. You're so brave - going to New York alone? I never could have done that! And then having the guts to come home and say you needed to start again - do you know how many people would have just given up and taken the easy route-"

"Isn't this the easy route?" Emma interjected.

"Does this feel easy?" her mother smiled.

Shaking her head softly, she replied, "No. Definitely not right now."

"Just promise me one thing."

"What?"

She met her mother's warm, dark eyes and her heart pinched when she saw the concern that filled them. "Take your time. Don't make any hasty decisions. We are your family and we will support you in whatever you do. But just make sure the decisions you make, are for the right reason."

"Okay mom," she agreed. "I'll try."

Mary Margaret gave her a warm smile, before standing up.

"Now, better drink up that cocoa before it gets too cold."

"Yes Mom," Emma groaned, pretending to be annoyed by her mother's concern.

(But secretly, she quite liked it).

**A/N - Thank you so much for all your feedback so far. It really means a lot. These chapters take quite some time to pull together, with the help of my wonderful beta Ztofan/Nickillian, and your kind words make it worthwhile. If you can leave a review or a message, I always really appreciate it. Thankyou.**


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